Salvation for the Wealthy

I am not a "wealthy" person, but I am very aware that there are many people in the world who do not have nearly as much as I do.  Especially, as a seminarian, all of my needs have been provided for (thanks be to God and to all of my generous benefactors, known and unknown to me).

And so, whenever I read the following from the Gospel of Matthew (or its parallels in Mark and Luke), I'm generally a little unsettled:

Jesus said to him, "If you wish to be perfect, go, sell what you have and give to (the) poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me." When the young man heard this statement, he went away sad, for he had many possessions. Then Jesus said to his disciples, "Amen, I say to you, it will be hard for one who is rich to enter the kingdom of heaven. Again I say to you, it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for one who is rich to enter the kingdom of God." When the disciples heard this, they were greatly astonished and said, "Who then can be saved?" Jesus looked at them and said, "For human beings this is impossible, but for God all things are possible." (Mt 19:21-26)

Normally, the closing words of the passage are what set my mind at ease: "For human beings this is impossible, but for God all things are possible."  It's not an excuse to be rich, to be greedy, or to lack charity, that Jesus provides here, but rather a hope that we, who are all attached to the things of this world, have hope in him that we might be able to let go of them and instead hold on to him.

That's my usual thought process in front of this passage, but St. Augustine has clarified it much more in his Exposition of Psalm 85 (86, by most modern numberings).  I'll just let him speak for himself:

From St. Augustine's Exposition of Psalm 85:
Bend down your ear and hear me, Lord, for I am needy and destitute. (Ps 86)  Not to the rich does he bend down his ear, but to the destitute and the needy; that is, to the humble, to the one who confesses to him, to the one who needs mercy, not to the person who is sated and self-important and boastful as though in need of nothing, the kind who says, I thank you that I am not like that tax collector there (Lk 18:11).  The rich Pharisee was flaunting his merits; the poor tax collector was confessing his sins.

But now, my brothers and sisters, you must not take what I have said, "He does not bend his ear down to the rich," to mean that God does not hear those who have gold and silver, a large household and country estates.  Such persons may have been born in those circumstances, or may hold that rank in human society, only they should keep the apostle's warning in mind: Instruct the rich of this world not to be high-minded (1 Tm 6:17).  Those who are not high-minded are poor in God, and to the poor and destitute and needy he bows down his ear.  Such people know that their hope does not lie in gold or silver, nor in any of those things with which they seem to be surrounded for a time.  Let them count themselves lucky if their riches do not ruin them; it is gain enough if their wealth is no hindrance, for it cannot be any profit to them.  What does profit rich and poor alike is a work of mercy, which a rich person can perform in both will and deed, but a poor person in will only.  When people in comfortable circumstances despise whatever there is in them that ordinarily blows up human pride, they are God's poor.  God bows down his ear to them, for he knows that their hearts are bruised.

[...]

Learn to be destitute and poor, whether you have possessions in this world or not, for you may find a proud beggar, or again a man of property confessing to God.  God thwarts the proud, whether they are clothed from head to foot in silk or in rags, but he grants grace to the humble, whether they own this world's wealth or nothing at all.

Taken from The Works of Saint Augustine: A Translation for the 21st Century, Volume III/18: Expositions of the Psalms.

Dr. Grace Augustine and Augustine, Doctor of Grace

I've never seen Avatar, but I just did a Google search for "Augustine the Doctor of Grace" (because that's what he's called) and learned that Sigourney Weaver's character in the movie is Dr. Grace Augustine...

That's a pretty big coincidence.  Is James Cameron a closet patrologist?

Unfortunately, in order to learn more, I'd have to watch the movie, and that's not likely to happen.  I have happily steered clear of the hype for this long, and I don't aim to change that.

Wednesday of Holy Week Part I

During the retreat I read the Life of Anthony, by St. Athanasius.  It tells of the life of St. Anthony of the Desert, who with St. Paul of Thebes is one of the great founders of Christian monasticism.  Much of the work describes his encounters with demons, temptations, evil spirits, and exorcisms.  Now, since we are all very convinced in this modern world that such things do not exist, these kinds of stories might seem anachronistic.

Now, putting aside for the moment that such things do exist, I just want to talk about the confidence with which Anthony approached these encounters.  It can be for us a great asset in combatting temptation.  Often times we can feel that temptation is so strong that it is inevitable that we will succumb to it, but if we listen to Anthony's view on demons and temptation, we might begin to recall that we are made in the Image of God, and called to a freedom that makes sin and the powers of evil pale in comparison:

"We must not fear them,

even though they seem to assault us

or threaten us with death,

for they are weak and have power to do nothing

except hurl threats."

"For these antics they deserve instead

to be ridiculed as weaklings."

"But if they held no sway over the swine,

how much less do they hold over people made in the Image of God!"

After reading such sayings from Anthony, I see that he can be a powerful intercessor for us in times of temptation of all kinds.  Whenever selfishness begins to manifest itself in us, in whatever way (greed, pride, lust, gluttony, envy, ...) let us ask Anthony to help us to live up to our Dignity, crushing temptations against the Rock who is Christ when they first appear, before they have the opportunity to grow into something more dangerous.

Random Bavaria photo:

Beneath Hohenschwangau Castle

Monday of Holy Week

I just want to quote the words of St. Augustine from the Office of Readings on Monday of Holy Week.  Augustine can sometimes be a little longwinded, so I often look with despair when I see his name in the breviary.  Yet, there is a reason he comes up so often, and every now and then, his spiritual/literary/theological genius comes out in force.

The case in point being the Wonderful Exchange.  This is a very famous passage about the Incarnation:

Of ourselves we had no power to live, nor did he of himself have the power to die.  Accordingly, he effected a wonderful exchange with us, through mutual sharing:  we gave him the power to die, he will give us the power to live.


There is very little I can say beyond the beauty and simplicity of those words, so I won't try.  Instead, I'll just try and live the life He gives us.

Random Bavaria photo:

Light rain at Andechs

The Sun

There is a great hymn that I have only ever heard on Good Friday at St. Ben's (aka, St. Joseph's Abbey and Seminary College, St. Benedict, Louisiana). It is called "Sunrise to Sunset Changes Now." It was first written (though not in English) by St. Clement of Alexandria, a Father of the Church. In prayer today, the lyrics came back to mind. I decided I ought to share the image.

In our lives, we all experience the gloom. It's not a total darkness, but we all know it in some way or another. For all of us, there is at least some suffering, though for some maybe more than others. We all realize not only the suffering we experience due to the wrongs that are done to us, but we're also very aware (though we might not admit it) of how much suffering we've caused through the wrong we have done to others. (And that's not even to consider the uncontrollable circumstances of the gloom, like sickness or hard economic times.)

Still, we all know joy as well, even if we don't always remember it. We dwell in darkness, but only to a certain extent. There is just enough light perhaps for us to trip and stumble if we don't have a guide.

We live in a kind of grey-ness, but what sort of grey is it? Is it dusk or is it dawn? Here's where the hymn comes into play:

Sunset to sunrise changes now,
for God doth make his world anew;
on the Redeemer's thorn-crowned brow
the wonders of that dawn we view.


E'en though the sun withholds its light,
lo! a more heavenly lamp shines here,
and from the cross on Calvary's height
gleams of eternity appear.


Here in o'er-whelming final strife
the Lord of life hath victory,
and sin is slain, and death brings life,
and earth inherits heaven's key.

Before Jesus came among us, before God became Man and gave himself for us, our state was that of sunset. The day was headed steadily into night. Our existence, originally intended to be lofty, was speeding toward total darkness, and without the great divine intervention, we were without hope. Through our Original Sin, we did our very best to thwart God's original intention for us.

But He does not give up so easily.

Night was coming fast, and we were caught in the near perfect gloom. But then, in what seemed like defeat, in that moment wherein His human life was extinguished, our truly human life was given back. Sunset was changed into sunrise. Now, we are still waiting in a grey world, but it's the grey of dawn, not of dusk. The sun was so near to sinking with great finality, but now the Sun is about to rise (or rather He IS risen!) and the night will be clear as day.

"You are not in darkness, that the day should catch you off guard like a thief. For all of you are children of the light and of the day. We belong neither to the night or to the darkness." (1 Th 5:4,5)

Indeed, when that Day shall come in all its fullness, the words of Revelation will ring truer than ever: "They shall see the Lord face to face and bear his name on their foreheads. The night shall be no more. They will need no light from lamps or the sun, for the Lord God shall give them light, and they shall reign forever." (Rev 22:4,5) Just like the hymn says: Lo! a more heavenly lamp shines here! The Cross is the new dawn of the human race.  Just imagine what the day will be like...

Back to the irrelevant photos:

Well, it's not a great photo, but it's the only one I've got of the whole band:
my dad, my three brothers, and me.  This is from our family's celebration of my grandma's 80th birthday.
I've also realized that for a blog entitled "Keytar Catholic," there aren't many pictures of said instrument.

Monica

"Bury my body wherever you will; let not care of it cause you any concern.  One thing only I ask you, that you remember me at the altar of the Lord wherever you may be."

-words of St. Monica from the Confessions of St. Augustine

Since I've just recently discussed St. Augustine, I think it's fitting to say something about his mother, St. Monica.  The day before Augustine's feast is her own.  The Church has seen fit to pair them liturgically.

I alluded in my previous post to the many twists and turns that Augustine's life took before his conversion.  Well, through all those many paths that Augustine lived, Monica was praying for him to turn to the Lord.  If we attribute greatness to Augustine as a saint, bishop, and doctor of the Church, then we must also give great credit to Moncia whose prayers for Augustine were certainly efficacious.

However, the conversion of Augustine--and Monica's place in it--though a beautiful story, is not what I want to discuss.  The reason I bring up St. Monica at all is the quote above.  Monica prayed for Augustine all through his life, and then, at the end of her life, she requested the same of him.  She prayed for his conversion, then asked him to pray for her after death.  (By the way, if anyone needs proof that the 5th century Church professed a belief in purgatory, here it is in this passage.)

This strikes me as relevant to an issue that comes up surrounding the loss of loved ones.  When someone we love dies, we want to say that he or she is in a better place.  We knew him very well, and we know he's in heaven.  Yet, had we asked that person before he died if he wanted our prayers, would he not have answered "yes, please do"?  Even the holiest among us, like St. Monica, would request that we pray for their souls after their death.

Now, let me make something clear - I don't think that we should pray for the dead out of fear for the dead of hell or purgatory.  Fear is a very twisted motivator.  Instead, we should pray for the dead out of hope in the mercy and love of God.

Is it right for us to hope that our beloved dead are in heaven--you bet.  However, should we, because of that hope, fail in our Christian duty to pray for the deceased--absolutely not!  Yet many of us tend to believe that those we love were so good, so virtuous in life, that we don't need to pray for them.  Whom is this desire to immediately canonize our beloved dead intended to benefit?

I think it's just a way for us to preserve our memory of the deceased as unblemished, that is, it's something that makes us feel better about what's going on.  But what good is that to the deceased?  And besides, I think it is a far healthier way of grieving to turn our efforts and energy to loving the deceased through praying for them rather than endlessly eulogizing on how wonderful they were.  Don't get me wrong--they were in fact wonderful, but the wonders that await them when they are reunited with Our Lord are far more worth celebrating, hoping for, and praying for than simply honoring their memory.  The deceased have a future.  If in our grieving we only recall the past, perhaps we have in fact forgotten our beloved dead.

unrelated pic:

hard at work

Augustine

Saturday was the feast of St. Augustine.  I probably would have posted then, but I was on an adventure and away from the computer.

Adventure on the Mississippi

As I prayed the Office of Readings for the day (part of the Liturgy of the Hours), I came across a very famous line of Augustine:

Late have I loved you, O Beauty ever ancient, ever new, late have I loved you!

It really is a beautiful passage.  It is from his Confessions, and it expresses so much emotion and love, yet also sounds a certain note of regret.  Augustine lived a wild life that twisted along many paths before he came to his conversion.  Now here he is wondering at God and being totally immersed in God's love such that he is returning it.  This quote is rightly famous.

But this time I was struck instead by the line that immediately follows it, something I don't think I had ever noticed:

You were within me, but I was outside, and it was there that I searched for you.

I can't imagine that there is anyone out there who cannot identify with these words in some way or another.  Who doesn't search for his happiness in the wrong places?  Who is there that doesn't fail to recognize their own worth and dignity?  We go out and find things to fill ourselves up with.  Whether we fill ourselves up with stuff (greed), with food (gluttony), with sex (lust), or even with our own distorted self-image (pride), we're doomed to failure.

But God doesn't leave us alone.  He comes after us.  He shatters the feeble defenses we put up against him.  Augustine concludes with these words, and I won't give any further commentary:

You called, you shouted, and you broke through my deafness.  

You flashed, you shone, and you dispelled my blindness.  

You breathed your fragrance one me; I drew in breath and now I pant for you.  

I have tasted you, now I hunger and thirst for more.  

You touched me, and I burned for your peace.

A photo of something else:

Capturing a sweet photo down the spiral staircase at
Sagrada Familia in Barcelona

Irenaeus

St. Irenaeus is a Father of the Church and a martyr of the early Church.  He is the disciple of St. Polycarp, who himself is the disciple of St. John the Apostle and Evangelist:  2 degrees of separation from the Beloved Disciple!  He also happens to be a patron saint of the Archdiocese of Mobile--how sweet is that!?

Anyway, one of his ideas has been coming to mind over and over again this week, an idea I can't shake.  I thank God that I can't shake it.  This has probably been helped along by the fact that I'm reading von Balthasar right now.  Here it is:

“For the Father is incomprehensible;

but in regard to His love, and kindness, and as to His infinite power,

even this He grants to those who love Him, that is, to see God.”

(Irenaeus, Against Heresies, 4.20.5)

God really is infinite, totally beyond our understanding.  Our human minds cannot wrap themselves around Him - he really is incomprehensible.

NEVERTHELESS, the Father fully reveals himself to us in Jesus Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit.  We believe this, but how can he reveal himself to us if we can't possibly comprehend him?  Irenaeus claims that while our mind can't get God, it is through God's Love for us that we can know him.  It is through our reciprocating his love for us that we are able to "see God." Paradoxically, God is too incomprehensible to be seen, but at the same time, too loving not to be seen.

That's why the fullest expression of Love is something that we cannot fully understand with our minds:  Christ's sacrifice on the Cross really does remain a "stumbling block" and an "absurdity" (1 Cor 1:23) to the human mind.  At the end of the day, it shouldn't "make sense" to us that God deigned to become man in the flesh and then gave his life.  That's why we sometimes call it the scandal of the cross.  Sure, there is a lot of theology to learn having to do with the Cross, but our mind cannot understand the Cross; only love can.

Jesus gives his life for us in the fullest expression of the greatest Love. At a certain point, we have to stop trying to understand the Cross, and start simply accepting the Love that's being shown to us.  There's a reason that being a theologian doesn't automatically make someone a saint--knowing about God is not the same thing as knowing God.  Knowing about God is an act of the intellect, but knowing God is an act of Love.

In revealing himself to us, God doesn't rip our minds apart trying to fit his inifinitude into our limited existence.  He loves us and wants us to know him.  So, we can say with St. John (Irenaeus' grandfather in the faith) that "Love consists in this, not that we have loved God, but that he has loved us and sent his Son as expiation for our sins."  (1 John 4:10)

Isn't it awesome that even though God is completely Other from us and completely beyond our understanding, he still found a way for us to see him?  He still jumps into our selfish existence and surprises us with the true extremes of Love.  This is what's on my mind right now.  Feel free to comment.

Irrelevant Photo:

Roll Tide Roll!  Football season is nearly upon us!